


New Bonds

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Everyone's alive, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Steter Secret Santa 2019, peter's pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: When Peter's hurt defending Scott, the pack is confused and mostly worried.Stiles gets to take care of him and finds out a lot about the wolf and their friends.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 62
Kudos: 924
Collections: Steter Secret Santa 2019





	New Bonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maegelletargaryen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=maegelletargaryen).



> Happy Holidays to maegelletargaryen on Tumblr! Hope you like the hurt/comfort and have a great 2020.

“I think that’s about all I can do.” Deaton sighs, throwing his gloves in the stack of garbage in the kitchen sink. “The rest of it will be up to Peter and you. The pack.”

“We’ll be here for him,” Derek says, putting his hand on Peter’s arm, one of the few places without bloodied skin. He shuts his eyes for a second, humming quietly as the black lines shoot up his arms.

“I’m sorry I can’t do something for that,” Deaton nods towards Derek’s arm, as he takes away some of Peter’s pain. “There really isn’t anything I can do either of you…”

“We’ve got this,” Boyd says, getting a small smile from Derek. “I mean, Peter got hurt trying to help the pack, least we can do.”

Scott storms out of the living room, looking at the pack standing in the kitchen of Derek’s loft. “Why though? Why would he do that? That’s nothing Peter would do, there’s got to be some kind of trick.”

“I don’t know, instinct maybe?” Isaac suggests. He’s in the kitchen, using lots of paper towels to pick up the mess left from Peter’s surgery. “He was a left hand and you’re an alpha. Who was being attacked by another alpha.”

Erica pulls Boyd out of the chair next to Peter and sits down in his place. She grimaces from the first wave of pain and then says, “You’re lucky he did, Scott. You weren’t paying attention even though we all knew there was an alpha here. If Peter hadn’t have jumped in front, well, we might have had a new alpha.”

“We _did_ know about the alpha, that’s part of it.” Scott scrubs a hand through his hair, frustration obvious on his face. “We were going to talk to him, remember? We were supposed to be meeting tomorrow to find out what he wants and instead, Peter threatens him and he, he – he attacked.”

“Isaac is right about Peter’s instincts. He would want to protect the pack from a threat,” Deaton says as he finishes packing up his supplies in a black back pack. “Call me later and let me know how he’s doing or if his fever spikes. He’ll heal, I’m sure, but as you know, it’ll take a bit.”

Derek nods his agreement and waits until Deaton’s out of the loft before asking Scott, “That’s how you remember it?”

“Well, yeah! Just because we happen to run into Alpha Eggson a day before we’re scheduled to meet, Peter thinks it’s trick and, he basically forced the him to attack.” Scott shakes his head, looking at his hands. “He forced me to kill someone. Do you know how that feels?”

“He forced you? That’s not quite the way I heard it.” Stiles makes his way towards the kitchen, with Cora pushing, trying to get past him. “Texts seem to say, the only reason you were alive to kill Eggson is because Peter kept you from getting killed first.”

“How is he?” Cora asks Derek, pressing her face into his shoulder. “God, he looks so…so still.”

“He’s gonna be fine, right?” Stiles takes Peter’s hand, squeezing it softly. He’s the pack human, so it does nothing for Peter, but makes Stiles feel a tiny bit better. “What did Deaton say? I’ve texted him three times, but he hasn’t responded.”

“He was a little busy,” Derek says, giving up his chair so that Cora can take a turn. “But basically…” He huffs out a breath and looks at the still body lying on his kitchen counter. “He’s here because Deaton was afraid to move him after stitching him back together.” He rubs the scruff on his chin, and takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Peter -- he just jumped right in front of Scott and got hit a lot. A lot, Stiles. Deaton said his heart wasn’t hit, but he’s got broken ribs, including one to the lungs, which Deaton pulled out and stitched him up.”

“Deaton pulled out his lung?” Stiles gasps, looking from Peter to Derek.

“Nice to see you’re still an idiot,” Derek answers, but it’s obviously rote. “Deaton pulled out or pulled up the rib. But that means he’s got the punctured lung. And his leg got ripped up, so that was a lot of blood loss.”

Cora stands, clenching her fist as she lets Erica take over again. “I’m not sure what exactly hurts, but damn, it’s not good. Poor Uncle Peter.”

“I can’t believe you’re all acting like this! It’s Peter! You know he had some kind of ulterior motive, right?” Scott huffs a breath, trying to get one of the beta’s to listen. “He probably did it because he wanted to kill the alpha himself and take his alpha power! That’s a Peter thing to do!”

Derek just turns his head away as his eyes flash blue. “Peter didn’t attack that way though. He was defensive, not offensive, Scott. He worked to push Eggson away from you, to get room in between you.”

“That was how he got hit in the stomach so badly,” Isaac says, taking over the pain drain from Boyd who took over from Erica. They can only go a few minutes at a time before they need a break. “I know that’s the part that Deaton was worried about. He’s not a medical doctor, and was trying to get everything, um… together and back in?”

“Well, that’s disgusting and scary as well.” Stiles paces, unable to stand still while Peter’s lying there, pale and unmoving. “He’d hate being this messy, this bloody. Undignified, he’d say.”

“He can’t be moved now, Deaton said to give him some time to heal. That’s why he did the surgery here rather than in his office.” Derek shrugs and says, “He didn’t think he should be moved and he might be down a few days. Attack this bad from an alpha…”

“Yeah, but you and Cora have this now, right?” Scott gestures towards the door, looking at his pack. “We should check the woods and be sure everything’s cleared up. You guys can help. You, too, Stiles.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles declares, leaning against the kitchen counter next to Derek. “If you want to go, then go.” He doesn’t look at the other betas, but none of them are moving either.

“I don’t know why you’re being like this, Stiles. I mean, come on, it’s Peter. Peter. You guys aren’t even dating or whatever it was that you were doing.” Scott wrinkles his nose as though their time together is something he can smell. “I’m glad you broke up with him; I’ll never understand why you were even with him in the first place.”

“Well, let’s think about it, shall we?” Stiles goes into the fridge and grabs some bottles of soda, handing one to Erica as he says, “Drink this, it’s got sugar, you guys need to keep your strength up if you’re doing that pain thing for Peter.”

“Thanks, I think?” Erica takes a long drink and hands it to Boyd, burping into her hand. “And yes, Stiles, let’s talk about you and Peter dating. In detail,” she says, grinning rather wolfishly.

Stiles brushes some hair off Peter’s forehead. “He’s smart, he’s so fucking smart. And funny, like seriously, when he’s not being a dick, he makes me laugh. He trusts me. He’s generous, although he doesn’t like to say so. He lends me his books, he lets me take them home. He still does even though we’re not sleeping together.”

“That’s big,” Cora says, taking her turn again. “His books are his babies.”

“And he was supposed to be almost indestructible,” Stiles says quietly, brushing a hand across his eyes before he plasters a wobbly grin on his face. “Oh, and to answer your question, Erica, he’s got a big cock and knows what’s he’s doing with it.” There’s a kitchen towel giving Peter some modesty after Deaton had to cut his jeans off to treat his injury and Stiles gestures towards it. “If Peter were ready, that towel couldn’t stand a chance.”

“Not making me want to stay here,” Isaac mutters. He roots through a cabinet until Stiles pulls him back into the living room.

“Okay, I can’t do that stuff, so I’ll make something to eat for everyone, that okay?” He’s mainly asking Derek, since it is his loft. When Derek nods, Stiles turns his back on the group, and starts pulling things out of the fridge for sandwiches.

“Isaac, are you staying?” Scott’s jaw is jutted out in that way he gets when he’s puzzled – or puzzled and annoyed.

“Yeah, I think we all are.” Isaac wraps a hand around Peter’s ankle, and blinks hard when the pain from his torn leg hits him. “No matter what he’s done, Peter’s pack, and he’s hurt.”

Boyd raises an eyebrow and calmly says, “If you don’t stay for Peter, then stay for the pack.”

“I can’t,” Scott stammers. There’s no lie in his heartbeat when he says, “I have to go, I told Kira I’d pick her up. She’s going to be worried, because she knew about the alpha in town.”

Stiles walks out of the kitchen area, setting the plate of sandwiches on the long, dining room table. “So she told you she was worried and you kinda listened to her, but you won’t listen to me or Peter at all?”

“No, I mean, obviously I didn’t listen to either of you – I mean, we had the meeting set up, I did do that and…”

“Get out, Scott,” Derek says, handing the food to the betas gathered around Peter. “Go pick up Kira and whatever. We’ve got this.”

“Yeah, thanks and, umm, good luck and keep me posted, okay?” Scott calls as he rushes towards the door. “Later!”

No one says anything for a couple of minutes, eating and drinking in between pulling Peter’s pain. Stiles is used to this; the wolves waiting to be sure that whoever has left is truly out of ear shot.

Derek shakes his head and says, “Two things: I am _not_ the worst alpha you have ever known. And two, Uncle Peter, what the hell were you thinking?”

Peter’s able to walk on his own the second day and on the third day, he’s carefully driven home, the pack seeing him home.

“No, I don’t need you to stay, thank you for taking care of me and all your help and all of that. I’d like to sleep now, good night, good bye. I’ll call you,” Peter says as he tries to push family and pack out his front door. “You were lovely, let’s not do this again sometime.”

Stiles tries to estimate the right strength to get back in and not hurt Peter; it’s a new skill he’s not sure he has down yet. “No, I do need to stay. That’s the agreement, remember, Peter?”

“Fine,” he says, pulling Stiles all the way in while shutting the door. “You’re here, I’m safe, thank the gods. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

“Do you need help undressing? I can help, you haven’t been on your feet for too long and…”

“I said a pack member could stay _in case_ I need someone. I do not need your help with bathing, I’ve been doing it for years. And if this is somehow your attempt to lure me back into your bed, your timing quite literally could not be worse.”

Stiles would be offended a bit more if he couldn’t see how Peter’s attempt at a hissy fit left him out of breath. “Yeah, get your hopes up, wolfie. Tell you what, you undress and I’ll get the shower running and just sit on your sink until you’re done.” From his own nights at the house, he knows that’ll give him a good view of Peter in the shower, but from a reflection in the mirror, so maybe it’s not too intrusive. It’s not that the wolf is modest, but Stiles knows he doesn’t like to show his weakness.

Peter gives another good harrumph, but moves slowly towards the bedroom. He limps a bit more than he did when the rest of the pack around, and Stiles hopes that’s a good sign that he’ll concentrate more on healing and less on pretending he’s fine.

“I love this bathroom,” Stiles says, assuming Peter can hear him. “This is the bathroom of my dreams, the bathroom I’ll use to measure against all other bathrooms.” He looks around, and grabs a couple of towels, turning on the warming bar and draping them on the top. Turning on the shower, he checks to be sure there’s Peter’s favorite soaps and the assortment of shampoos and conditions. That’s just the start of his daily routine and Stiles smiles, thinking about the hair products and skin creams in the massive medicine cabinet. Of course it has room, since there’s very little medicine. Unless he’s thrown it out, there’s probably the bottle of Tylenol Stiles brought over when they were still dating and that’s about it.

“Hmm, there’s a roll of bandages and I guess we can figure out tape or something…” he mutters.

“I’m fine, I can take a shower by myself,” Peter repeats, walking past him. He’s naked, but for once, he’s not strutting. He’s slightly hunched over with his hand spread between the tear in his chest and the one down his belly. “I need neither a baby sitter nor a voyeur.”

Stiles grasps Peter’s arm, and pulls him around. He’s careful, something he’s not used to. “Stop being a dick, and let me see.” It was incredibly gross the first time he looked at Peter’s injuries; Derek insisted it wasn’t, but Stiles is pretty sure he saw Peter’s stomach. Like his real stomach, even though Derek pointed out that he was stitched shut.

Over the days it took for Peter to be well enough to go home, the wounds healed a bit more and he certainly looks much better than day one. Stiles had carefully wiped as much blood off as he could, being careful to avoid getting near the open wounds. But he took care with Peter’s hands, knowing how particular the wolf is about his hands and his nails. When they were dating – or whatever it was – Peter had no qualms about his required mani-pedi every other week. Honestly, Stiles appreciated it, and quite enjoyed Peter’s attractive, talented hands.

Sighing, Peter turns around and holds his hands out to his sides. “There. I’m healing, okay? Not great, but everything is inside where it should be.”

Squatting, Stiles studies Peter’s stomach. It’s an excuse really – he wants to see if Peter’s able to stand long enough to actually take a shower. “Yeah, I can see, it is looking better, just a ….”

“I’m fine,” Peter snips, turning to enter the shower stall and shutting the glass door with a firm click. Stiles sits down, mostly out of sight and watches Peter wince as he reaches for his shampoo. He manages that, and putting in a hefty handful of conditioner before he moves back to sit on the marble bench against the wall. He’s slow as he washes off, leaning against the wall, eyes shut.

Just before Stiles thinks it’s long enough that he should get up to help, Peter stands and tilts his head back for the main shower head to rinse the conditioner off his hair. After a minute he turns, rinsing soap off from everywhere else, gently over his injured skin and with a little more vigor on the healthy parts.

“Towel,” he commands, holding out a hand as Stiles stumbles forward, grabbing the two off the warmer.

“Bossy,” Stiles says, fighting a grin. It’s so Peter and so familiar and…

“Bed.” Peter ducks around him, a little more sure on his feet. He’s walking easier, yes, the hot water and what’s a virtual steam room helping to relax even supernatural muscles. Even so, Stiles notices his eyes are almost shut and he only narrowly avoids hip-checking his dresser as he makes his way to the bed.

“Okay, let’s get you tucked in and you sleep for a while.” Stiles doesn’t have to do much, just waits while Peter burrows under the covers, grunting quietly until he finds the most comfortable position. “Do you need anything, some water or do you want anything to eat before you fall asleep?”

The answer is a quiet snore, the type Stiles knows means he’s exhausted. He brushes back Peter’s damp, curling a lock around his finger. “Guess you don’t need anything right now. Sleep well, Peter.”

Food. Injured werewolves need fuel, Stiles knows from unfortunate years of experience. So, time to see what Peter has in the kitchen.

“Hmm, protein and some carbs would be good.” Opening the fridge, he sees packages from the butcher, one of the expensive ones from out of town. He and his dad are grocery store types of people, but he does appreciate Peter’s good taste. He opens the first package, after checking the ‘use by’ date, which isn’t for another day. “Smells okay to me,” he mutters, suddenly unsure. Like all the wolves, Peter’s sensitive to meat that’s going bad. In the past, Stiles left the apartment with a bag of things Peter rejected and the Stilinski men happily ate.

“Okay, we’re going with a bacon cheeseburger; that should be good and fatty. I know it would knock me out for a few hours.”

He doesn’t want to start the food too soon, since it doesn’t take that long to fry everything up, even if he makes it fancy with sautéed onions and Peter’s special, stinky blue cheese.

While he’s waiting, he does a quick clean up around the kitchen and living room. It’s obvious that Peter ran out of the house quickly on the day he got hurt. Stiles makes quick work of the breakfast dishes in the sink and stacks up the magazines, setting them on the side of the coffee table. He doesn’t want to vacuum because of the noise, but of course Peter has a broom and there’s cleaning items under the kitchen sink. And now Stiles can let his ADHP run wild.

It’s almost two hours later when he starts cooking and thirty minutes later, he’s carrying a tray to Peter’s bedroom.

“Rise and shine, Peter. At least long enough to get some nutrition in.” He puts the tray on the side table, waiting until Peter sits up, grumbling with his eyes blazing.

“You cooked? Did I authorize that?”

Stiles snorts and shakes his head, setting the tray on the bed. Trust Peter to have actual “eating in bed” tables. “What, you’re being extra grumpy to make up for your days off? Yeah, I made you some food. You’ll like it, now sit up and eat.”

Peter sniffs it and after a minute, picks up the burger, taking a large bite. He chews for a minute and then shuts his eyes. “Good ingredients help. And, I suppose, you’re actually a pretty good cook.”

“I know,” Stiles answers, reaching over to snag a piece of melted cheese. “God, this stuff is gross, why don’t you just eat cheddar like a normal person?”

“Don’t like, don’t eat.” Peter says, shrugging as he takes another mouthful. “Just like you’re reading your fanfiction, darling.” He finishes his dinner, picking up the last of the browned onion and hands the plate to Stiles. “But now you need to open a window, you know I _hate_ the smell of food in the bedroom.”

“Picky wolf, with your picky nose.” He takes the plate and licks it clean before he shoves it towards the door. It gets a good slide on the hardwood floor, and bumps up against the wall by the door. Stiles gets up and opens the window a crack.

It’s a rainy, winter day in Northern California. It’s the same color gray from morning until the official sunset around 4.30 in the afternoon. The rain’s been constant, sometimes a little more than a drizzle and then twenty minutes of it pouring down. Right now, it’s just steady and constant and the air in the room cools down.

Peter pulls Stiles in next to him, pressing him against the bed. “Thank you for staying and for food.”

“You’re welcome, Peter. I wasn’t about to leave you alone, not when you’d been hurt so bad.”

Peter’s quiet, lying on his non-injured side, head on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles thinks he may have fallen back asleep. After all, that’s what Stiles would do on a rainy afternoon, after a big meal. Especially when warm and snug, cuddled up to Peter.

“Why did you break up with me?” The question is quiet, almost too quiet for a human to hear.

“We talked about it, Peter.”

“You said that you thought it was moving too fast. And it was too intense.” Peter looks up, eyes shiny and blue. “As though something with the two of us would ever be anything but intense.”

Stiles chuckles, rubbing his hand up and down Peter’s back, smiling at the rumble in the wolf’s chest. “Yeah. Neither of us are exactly the model of chill, are we?”

“No, I don’t think either of us have been accused of that. Unless it’s something we don’t care about, in which case…”

“We don’t give a shit at all,” Stiles finishes, rubbing his chin in Peter’s hair, planting what he hopes is a silent kiss. Which probably isn’t because werewolf. “I don’t know that I’d be good with someone who expected me to be lackadaisical.”

Peter kisses Stiles’ shoulder and then stretches to kiss the bit of bare skin showing on his neck. “You should rethink breaking up with me. You obviously care about me, based on everything you’ve done recently. Which you should, because truly, I’m a catch.”

“You’re a giant dick and don’t take that as a compliment.” Stiles snorts and gently pushes Peter’s head back down on his shoulder. “Maybe we’ll talk about it when you wake up, or in a year or when pigs fly.”

“Okay, I need to get a pig. I can do that.” Peter kisses him again, cuddling more into the younger man’s arms. “Stiles, what are you thinking? You smell… unsettled?”

“Again, stop with the smelling, it doesn’t make me want to get back together with you.”

“Avoidance tactic, Stiles?”

“Fine.” Stiles squirms a little until he’s mostly sitting up, leaving Peter’s head resting near his belly.

Peter wastes no time pushing up Stiles’ thermal to expose more skin, tracing two moles on his hip.

He tugs his shirt down, and taps Peter on the nose. “None of that if we’re talking. So here’s the question, wolf. Why’d you do it? Why did you jump in front of Scott? Did you think you could kill Alpha Eggson and become an alpha again? In front of Scott and the rest of the pack?”

“No, darling. While it would be nice, that wasn’t my thought at all.” He smooths down Stiles’ shirt and rearranges himself, with only a small wince, so they’re able to look at each other. “There’s two reasons I suppose. The simplest is my training was as the protector of the pack. Even though I’m only attached to the pack through you –“

“That’s not true! You know Scott considers you pack. Sort of,” Stiles says and doesn’t say anything about how we was acting when Peter was so badly hurt. Stiles is still pissed at him. “I mean, if you were ever in trouble, the pack would be behind you.”

“Running away, I’m sure.” Peter puts his hand up Stiles’ shirt, resting his palm on the younger man’s heart. “At least the ones who listen to me.”

“Okay, wise one, so Derek was right and your wolfie instincts said to protect the alpha? That’s reason one. What’s reason two?”

He’s silent for a moment, just petting the bit of fur on Stiles’ chest. “He’s your friend, Stiles. What was I supposed to do, let your best friend die? Maybe you’re not as close as you once were, but I know you wouldn’t want him injured or, god forbid, to be killed.”

“You saved him because of me? To make me happy?”

“Well, to keep you from being unhappy.” Peter shrugs and sits up, leaning against the footboard, watching Stiles get comfortable against the headboard. “He’s a terrible werewolf and certainly not the best alpha, but he’s been your friend since you were children. I didn’t want you to have another death in your life, not him and not like that. Not if I could help it.”

Stiles crosses his arms and grins sheepishly, feeling the blush rise on his face. “You got hurt so bad, Peter, but thank you. That was brave and I’d say stupid, but I know now why you did it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling. If we’re a couple or not, it seems I just can’t ignore your needs.” Peter’s fangs drop and he tilts his head back inhaling slowly. “You smell delicious just now. Pleased, and surprised, and, dare I say, rather affectionate.”

“Hey, no sniffing.” Stiles shakes his head and yawns. “Okay, we gotta get to sleep, but one more question and you’ve never actually answered, but if Scott’s so awful, what would you do for the pack? I know you don’t want to give him advice, but tell me.”

“It’s not that complex, not really.” Peter gets up slowly and goes to his side of the bed, tugging on the covers until they’re neat again. He walks to Stiles’ side and pulls as much as he can, with Stiles on top of the comforter. “Use Derek’s knowledge; he wasn’t the best alpha, perhaps, but he knows packs and how they work. Boyd’s calm and would be good to represent the pack in meetings. Derek could train him on discussions with other packs. He should use Isaac’s anger, help him direct it someplace useful. Train Erica to be the left hand or let me train her. You should be the pack’s emissary, you know them, you know Scott. They need to stop relying on Deaton. Scott needs to listen to what his pack tells him – everyone said the meeting with Alpha Eggson was a bad idea and I told him that an alpha wouldn’t come to negotiate alone. It was obviously a set up for something, but Scott wouldn’t listen.” He gets back under the covers and looks at Stiles. “Getting in?”

“That’s…” Stiles huffs out a breath and thinks for a moment. “The pack stuff? That’s a lot to think about and certainly more than you’ve ever said before. I didn’t know you looked at the pack like that.”

“Someone has to,” Peter says, watching as Stiles gets back under the covers.

“Well it figures that you’d know a lot about packs, having been raised in one and around one.” Stiles defending his friend is rote by now. When he does lecture Scott about what he’s learned in his research, that’s in private.

“Scott is the Donald Trump of alphas – he has the title and wants the glory, but he’s not smart enough and doesn’t want to actually do the job.”

“Oh my god. How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“I just thought of it. I’m extremely witty, remember? And now I’m tired.” Peter rolls himself around Stiles, making sure the boy has his known, comfortable place with his head on the wolf’s chest. “Thanks for being here. I do feel better with you here. You’re my pack member who can help me heal.”

“Honestly, I was never so terrified in my life. The thought of you…” He lifts his head, just enough to press his face into Peter’s neck. His voice is shaking when he whispers, “It’s a lot of work for you to come back. You would have had to come back, Peter. We need you. I need you.”

“Not going anywhere, not yet.” Peter kisses his temple, running his hands over Stiles’ shoulders “You should be with me, darling. Emissary of our pack. I’ll be alpha and Derek will be second, Boyd training to take over from him some day. Train Erica and Isaac, use their natural sneaky shit.”

Stiles melts his warmth and mutters, “I still can’t believe you almost got killed in order to protect Scott. He’s thinking you have some sort of horrid plan and that’s why you did it.”

“He should be happy that I care about you more than I dislike him.”

“That’s what it was? Not sure that would make him any happier.”

“Well if he doesn’t understand what a wolf should do to protect his emissary, and his mate, then fuck him. He’ll never be a good alpha and no amount of training or advice will help.”

“Your mate?” Stiles asks quietly, knowing his heart is racing. “I broke up with you, remember? The thing we’re not talking about?”

“And yet you’re the one that’s here, taking care of me, making sure I heal. In my bed,” Peter smirks, snuffling into Stiles’ neck. “I’ve changed my mind, you may need to stay here for a while to make sure I’m fine.”

Stiles relaxes, letting Peter wrap around him until he’s comfortable. He’s probably ninety percent healed, and wouldn’t be this vulnerable with other pack members. “We’ll talk about that mate thing and how we’re broken up when you wake up. For now, just go to sleep, Peter.”

There’s a quiet chuckle and sharp nip to Stiles’ earlobe before Peter’s breath becomes steady on his neck.

Stiles wakes up to a sharp pain in his chest and to Peter gasping, holding his chest the same as Stiles.

“The fuck is this? Peter?”

“Bonds. Pack bonds, they’re breaking, they’re…” He turns to look at Stiles with panic on his face and then his eyes flash. Red Eyes. “They’re shifting. It’s all moving.”

“Peter, what the fuck happened, what do you mean, why are your eyes like that?”

Shutting his eyes, Peter gasps, “My eyes? What are they like? Gods, what is this…” He raises his head, looking around the room and then at Stiles. He takes a breath and slowly lifts his head. A grin spreads on his face, looking only a little like The Grinch having a wonderful idea. “It happened. I don’t know why, but it happened.” He rubs his chest and shuts his eyes, grabbing Stiles’ hand.

“I can feel it, too, Peter. You piece of shit, I’m in your pack.” He pulls his hand away and scrubs them through his hair and then his jaw drops. “Scott! Holy shit, what happened to Scott? You didn’t do something?”

“I did nothing to him – other than save him and get injured myself. As far as I can tell, he’s fine.” He counts on his fingers as he says, “Derek, Cora…Erica is strong, Boyd is there. Isaac is - unsure. Scott is fine, but he’s on his own now.”

“You can feel them, like you do me? Like a pack bond?” He rubs his chest and looks at Peter. “This is what it’s supposed to feel like, isn’t it?”

Both of their phones start to go off and each reaches for the closest nightstand to grab them.

“Hello, Derek,” is as much as Peter’s able to say before Stiles grabs the phone, hitting the speaker button.

“Derek, it’s Stiles. You’re okay? You know what happened? Why did this happen?”

They hear a shaky sigh before Cora says, “We’re okay, it was just really weird. There was this little thread and suddenly it dropped and then this – this chain hit and … Is Peter… he’s an alpha now? So is Scott okay?”

“Yes, I’m an alpha and yes, Scott’s okay. It appears he’s been texting Stiles. I’m sure we’ll talk with him next,” Peter says, looking for Stiles to nod. “You’re both okay? We can talk in person later, if you’d like.”

“I think we should,” Cora says. She doesn’t sound angry, just confused and tired.

There’s quiet voices on the phone and finally Derek says, “Congratulations, Uncle Peter. I hope it’s better for all of us this time.”

“Thank you and so do I, Nephew, so do I.”

After they’ve hung up, Stiles checks his phone again and says, “One o’clock in the morning, great timing, Peter.”

“Thanks, it’s a gift.” He stands, much steadier on his feet and looks at himself in the mirror, flashing his eyes. “I think I should make coffee. I doubt we’re getting much more sleep tonight.”

“So you’re healed and nothing is bad anymore and…” Stiles shakes his head and huffs out a breath. “Man, you look so different, I don’t know why that one thing, that eye color makes such a difference.” He approaches the new – reborn – alpha, cupping a hand under his chin, turning his head back and forth. “You look good. I mean, you always look good, but now, you look _good_ – like not crazy, killing machine, but good like you’re healed and...”

“I’m healed and I’m an alpha. In full control of my powers and I’m not crazy, not even a little bit.” Peter steps away when the coffee maker beeps and pours them both their cups, as he’s done many times before. His with cream and no sugar and Stiles’ cup is cream and extra sugar. “So. Anything else from Scott? More texts?”

Nodding, Stiles downs half his cup, apparently unbothered by the heat. “Yeah. He says he’s been talking with Isaac and Lydia; they both felt the pack bonds break, but he hasn’t said what they’re thinking. Can you tell?”

“Hmm, poking around the edges, same as always.” Peter stops and studies Stiles, until the younger man squirms. “Sorry, just wondering what you’re feeling, you scent – or you seem, I know you prefer that – but you seem very surprised and uncomfortable. Is it so different, your pack through Scott and your pack through me?”

“I think I need to think on that one. Ready to call Scott?”

Scott’s face is way too close to the screen when he yells, “Stiles? I’m a beta! What happened, how did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles answers, moving the phone around as though that’ll help him see more. “Let’s see your eyes.”

Scott flashes his eyes and they’re a very nice yellow. Stiles thinks they look good, nice and wolfie. “Yeah, that looks like beta eyes.”

Taking the phone, Peter checks on Scott for himself. “Yellow? Hmm, I guess you don’t get credit for _wanting_ to kill Gerard. Of course, if that were the case, we’d all have blue eyes.” He lets his flash red, and chuckles when Isaac gasps and grabs the phone from Scott.

“You’re an alpha again? I thought you had to kill someone or something to become an alpha!” the beta asks. He looks cute and confused and lets Scott take the phone back from him.

“I didn’t! I became a true alpha, it’s because of strength of character! Peter doesn’t have that!” Scott shifts to his beta form and snarls into the phone. “How did this happen? What did you do? Stiles, you’ve been with him since he got hurt, did you guys do something?”

“Of course not, Scott! And neither did Peter!” Stiles slumps on the couch and takes the coffee mug Peter hands him. “He nearly died saving your life. And you were the one who finally killed Alpha Eggson, so it wasn’t Peter taking his power.”

“Then how did this happen?” Scott wails and Stiles really does feel bad for his friend, who looks so confused.

“I don’t know, Scott. Maybe…” he pauses and looks at the new alpha. He’s on his phone, grinning as he sends texts. Hopefully they’re to the pack members Stiles can feel through the bond. Something he didn’t think really existed because he never really felt it like this with Scott. “Maybe, it’s time for Peter to be a true alpha, I don’t know. Or maybe he had some distant relative who died and he inherited the alpha spark or…”

“Nope, no old alpha aunties,” Peter calls over. “And we’re having dinner at Derek’s tonight at seven. We’ll pick something up, but I think you and I can make dessert.”

“Seriously, Peter? You were nearly dead twenty-four hours ago! Now you want brownies or something?”

Peter’s eyes glow red and Stiles feels the tug in his chest; happy, strong and so so possessive. “Maybe you can make the ones with the coffee butter cream frosting?”

“That’s bullshit, Stiles! Peter obviously killed someone and you’re defending him and talking about – talking about baking or something?” Scott’s got his funky eyebrows and pointy ears and those yellow eyes. Nice, but still, blue was always better. Red better still.

“Don’t be an asshole, Scott, when would he have had time? His guts were hanging out a couple of days ago! Like, literally!”

“How rude!” Peter holds his phone out to Stiles, showing a text from Erica. “Ms. Reyes is asking for tacos, so I think maybe we get things to have a taco bar, what do you think?”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about tacos, when it’s obvious that Peter – or you – did something illegal or unethical or something!” Scott shakes his head, looking sad and so disappointed. “You’re not the same person you were, Stiles. You used to be _good_ , but since you’ve been with Peter… sometimes, it’s like the Nogitsune didn’t really leave.”

There’s a flash in Peter’s chest and even without that he can see and smell the panic and fear rolling off his packmate. And anger, so much anger as well, directed at Scott and just pushing outward. Maybe Stiles will be his emissary, maybe his mate, but absolutely, obviously his friend. He takes the phone from Stiles and pushes him to a seat on the couch.

“Scott, you are invited to be in the pack, basically because I don’t want an omega in my territory and I know you have your family here and you don’t want to leave.” He sits and pulls Stiles close, keeping him tucked against his side so he can’t grab the phone. “But I do not want to hear you insult Stiles any longer; Stiles is my emissary and my mate and you need to show some respect for both of those things. I’m willing to meet with you later this afternoon, before I meet with my family and the rest of the pack. I’ll text you with details.” He doesn’t even wait for a reply before disconnecting and handing the phone to Stiles. “There, that’s done, at least for now.”

“Now you’re telling people I’m your mate and your emissary? You’re feeling pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, turning off his notifications and pocketing his phone, slumping back into Peter’s comfortable couch. “You go from nearly dead to alpha and get all cocky again?”

“I’ve never not been at least a little bit cocky, although I prefer to call it self-assured.” He stops and for a moment, Stiles sees the bit of worry in Peter’s eyes. “Which are you objecting to more? Being my emissary or the other one?”

“The other one? That’s a gentle way to say it,” Stiles snorts. “You’re telling me I’m your mate after I told you that we were moving too fast and that’s why I broke up with you.” He gets up and shakes his head, scrubbing his hands over his face. “What’s your plan, Peter? I’m sure you have a plan, you always do.”

Peter deflates, melting into the couch that Stiles just left. “Plan? Not really. Nothing that covers this.” He turns his head, looking over at Stiles with a faint smile. “Only short term plan was for getting you back. How long will I have to wait until you just realize the reason we get along and can tolerate each other and have terrific sex is because we’re mates?”

“Peter, this is…” He rubs his hand through his hair and scratches at the bit of scruff on his chin. Somehow, it never grows in as nicely as Peter’s. But then again, there’s never been much in his life that’s been as good as Peter.

“Peter, this is insane and I can’t discuss this or what’s going to happen right now.” He stands and turns to the hallway, calling over his shoulder, “I need chicken and waffles from the diner and we need to make a plan. We have a lot of meetings today and we need to be sure there’s plans for each of them. And order a taco bar!”

“Okay.” Peter gets up, nodding quickly before Stiles changes his mind. “Food and plans. Yes, dear.”

Stiles snorts, tugging on yesterday’s sweatshirt. “Nice having you back, Alpha.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this seems like it could continue. Maybe it will? Hope it works as a one-shot if the muses don't offer more.


End file.
